


now that the world isn't ending

by bonibaru



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 11:03:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10410726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonibaru/pseuds/bonibaru
Summary: Silence drove him to it.





	

It's quiet, finally quiet, an odd feeling after suffering through so many hours of seemingly endless noise. In David's room there are no screaming fans, shutter clicks, barrages of questions or unexpected criticisms. The problem is that it's too quiet, the silence poised and electric like the last gasp of calm before a storm. 

David can't sleep anyway, can never sleep after a show, still riding the now-familiar high of adrenaline and tears. The sheets are too rough against his skin and his mouth tastes like stale toothpaste. Simon's last words echo through the empty spaces in his head and he needs something, anything, to chase them out, because that way lies madness. Especially now that it's really over and there's no more chances to get things right. 

David shoves the covers off and pushes himself to his feet. He tries to make excuses for why he's out of bed - maybe he's going to go open the window, stand by it and breathe the night air. Maybe there are crickets out there waiting to be heard. There must be cars on the street, planes flying overhead, wind in the leaves; something to take the edge off the nothing echoing in his ears. Maybe he'll just go stand in the kitchen out of desperation and listen to the monotonic hum of the refrigerator. But he quickly gives up pretending that he intends to do anything of the sort and pads softly out into the hallway, his bare feet following a now-familiar path.

The dim moonlight filtering through the bedroom window is useless to his tired eyes, sleep-deprived and lately strained by the constant glare of spotlights and camera flashes. But he can feel the shape huddled under the blankets. He knows the pitch and rhythm of Archie's breathing even in the dark. 

The night Jason left, when they'd come back from dinner, the sight of another empty bedroom had sent Archie into such a state of anxiety David had been afraid he really would pass out. Crawling into bed together had been the only way either of them could finally get any sleep, David's chest pressed against Archie's back, syncopated breathing slow and deep. By now, it feels completely natural for David to slide in under the covers, for the younger man to wriggle around and make room.

Archie's arms sliding around David's torso, however, his mouth pressing against David's - that's new. At first David doesn't respond, frozen in shock. But Archie kisses like he laughs - open-mouthed, unpracticed, and unrestrained. It's almost impossible not to follow suit. David can feel the tension rolling off of his friend's body in furious, almost overwhelming waves, and instinct tells him to tread carefully. He knots his fingers in the hem of Archie's T-shirt when he really wants to twist them in his thick, black hair. The pressure of the whole season has been one snowflake short of an avalanche for them both; the peak of it hit during tonight's final competition, and as he trembles under David's touch, Archie seems dangerously close to shattering.

David softens his mouth, moving to close his fingers firmly on Archie's shoulders. By this time tomorrow there will be a rank order between them, a false numerical inequality; after that their bags will be packed and they'll be heading home to prepare for the tour. After tomorrow, the next time they see each other, they'll have gone back to being two of ten and it will never be just the pair of them again. No one in the universe will ever be able understand what's happened to them - how Idol has forged them in its unrelenting fire. David means it every time he says doesn't care if he loses the competition, because he's always known where he's going (just not quite when - or how - he'd get there). But the thought of leaving Archie behind, this young man who is the textbook definition of innocence, navigating a cynical world without David's constant support, is almost more than he can take. 

David uses the same gentle hands he's been using all season to keep the younger man calm, thumbs rubbing slow, delicate circles on the side of his face. He feels immense relief as Archie gradually starts to relax and arches into him, pushing his toes against the foot of the bed for leverage. When David's tongue slips into his mouth, a soft whimper breaks from Archie's throat. When David sucks in his lower lip, licking and biting with lips and tongue and teeth, the whimper becomes a full throated moan thrumming into David's open mouth.

That's what he's been aching for - that honeyed voice, a familiar comfort over these last few days, flawlessly rising and falling beside his own through rehearsal after rehearsal. That voice is his anchor, its pure clarity the mooring David clings to on stage when his hands are too shaky to hold the mic steady and the storm of his own emotions threatens to drown him. 

He sucks in a breath and pulls Archie closer. The reward for such an uncharacteristic display of eagerness is more of that musical sound; it wraps around them, warmer than the blankets, swallowed down David's throat to fill the echoing spaces inside.


End file.
